


Anything You Say (Can And Will Be Held Against You)

by ch3nracha



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American setting, Bang Chan is Called Chris, Bang Chan is Whipped, Bang Chan is a Sweetheart, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Greek Life, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, M/M, Making Out, Past Seo Changbin/Lee Felix, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Suggestive Themes, Suicide mention, V brief angst, everyone makes v brief cameos, no beta we die like men, soft hours open
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch3nracha/pseuds/ch3nracha
Summary: Chris brushes his fingertips along Felix’s bare arm, his skin betraying him and breaking out into goosebumps. Chris notices. His smirk, and the accompanying dimples, deepen."Did it hurt?"What? "What?""Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?""No, but I scraped my knees crawling out of hell."(Or: Jisung drags Felix to a party and Chris has a way with words)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 81
Kudos: 563





	1. Pick (Me) Up

**Author's Note:**

> • I know Chris is as soft and squishy as a gummy bear that's been left in your pocket to get all warm but let's all suspend our disbelief and pretend he's the pickup line kinda guy
> 
> • Wrote this because I'm super excited for tomorrow and I needed something to do, this is my first comeback with SKZ! Have my alarm set for 2am since that’ll be my time when God’s Menu drops 
> 
> • Title from the song "Just One Yesterday" by Fall Out Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the cheers, music, and laughter Felix hears a low whistle. He doesn't look up initially, continues to burn his retinas with the bright LED display his eyes are glued to, because he has no reason to look. He hears it again, sounding closer. Ignoring it, Felix tries to read the meme his debate partner Seungmin posted earlier. Again. Closer. This time Felix does look up, irritated and ready to tell whoever to go be a nuisance elsewhere when he sees him. A guy. Whistling — at him?

There's a test scheduled for tomorrow covering command, traditional, and market economies and an essay due midnight the following day over voting patterns in an office election, but here Felix is, leaning against a wall next to a potted plant at a frat party. Awkward, uncomfortable. Like a fish out of water but instead of death he has to endure the pain of social gatherings. He chooses death.

It's not like he wanted to show but Jisung made a wager with him; if he got a higher mark on his contemporary piece than Felix did on his critical thinking thesis, Felix would attend. And Jisung managed to do it — by one percent. To say Felix was mad (swearing about karmic injustice while he wildly waved his hands, almost stabbing Jisung in the arm with the fork he’d been wielding. More than once) is an understatement.

Jisung disappeared within the throng of partygoers almost as soon as they arrived, marooning Felix alone in the crowded kitchenette and — okay. He’s not socially inept per se, able to carry on the weight of a serious conversation or engage in small talk, but he doesn't really like interacting with others, especially his peers (not including Jisung. Except for right now when he left, so fuck him too).

The punch is undoubtedly spiked with cheap liquor, probably vodka since it mixes easier, which is a headache he can't afford to nurse in the morning, and the tap water is warm. Gross. He ends up fishing a Capri Sun out from the bottom right crisper in the fridge and now he's resting against a wall in the living room, scrolling through his twitter timeline. Cool, casual.

"Felix?" When said boy looks up from his phone screen he sees Hyunjin standing there, glasses sitting askew on his face with a red solo cup in hand. Hyunjin is a friend of Jisung’s, someone Felix doesn't talk to outside of polite “hi’s” and “excuse me’s.” Also someone Felix finds annoying but alright at the same time.

"What are you doing here?"

"Jisung blackmailed me. Asshole evaporated into thin air," Felix says, flicking his fingers out from the fist he loosely balled them in to imitate a poof. Felix would have felt less tactless had Jisung stuck around and talked with him instead of leaving him to hole up in a corner next to a plastic fern.

Hyunjin laughs. Light, warm, uninhibited. Definitely tipsy. "Saw him out back by the fire pit."

Felix wants to ask how they managed a fire when the majority can’t manage their liquor but — he doesn’t care. It’s not his bed that’ll be reduced to rubble if shit goes sideways. Instead he pushes off the wall, partly hoping Jisung fell in and the other part hoping he didn't considering he pocketed the room key before they left. Insurance that Felix has no choice other than to ride the party out. Jisung’s a dumbass but he’s smart.

A hand wraps around his wrist, Hyunjin, tugging him back and telling him to wait. From here, even with the tacky strobe lights that were probably purchased from a nearby party city, Felix can see the faint glow of a fire through the sliding glass door, burning small but fierce like a lit cigarette. And if he squints hard enough and utilizes his imagination he can almost see him, Jisung. Jisung with his knack for ditching Felix (this isn't the first time) and their keys to the dorm. At this point Felix wants to go home and curl up on his couch and read something by Frieden or Ikenberry with Pulp Fiction faintly buzzing in the background like white noise.

Right now though, Hyunjin is keeping him from that and a warm bed, when Felix wants nothing more than to get away from stupid house plants and loud, irritating club music that vibrated through his body.

"Jisung," Hyunjin says, although it's closer to shouting, "is with Minho. He actually got up the nerve to initiate a conversation and they're doing pretty well. I think."

As heartless as Felix likes to think he is he isn't that heartless. He's seen the way Jisung’s eyes follow Minho whenever they're cutting through the courtyard, or the songs written to and about him even though Jisung insists that it's a coincidence. He wears his heart on his sleeve, so open and trusting that Felix has the urge to Protect.

And it's not like Felix hasn't been pushing Jisung for months to talk to Minho, given enough pep talks he might consider a career in motivational speaking if his current majors falls through. At least an ‘'excuse me' when he bumps into Minho because Jisung is resolute about staring at the ground and the ground only. Felix would find it endearing if Jisung didn’t accidentally slap his coffee out of his hands every other time, arms flailing like an inflatable noodle man outside of a car dealership.

Felix swears under his breath. He may not behave like a normal twenty-something red blooded male but he believes in the 'Bro Code' and Jisung would probably ignore him in their own room if he fucked this up. And Felix can’t have that, he’s grown too accustomed to Jisung and his decidedly weird habits. Like asking random 3am questions while they’re trying to sleep.

(“Does life have relevancy outside of the trivial amusement we as a species receive when the human race is forced into a life of labor and servitude on the slow march to our inevitable demise? Oh! If I buy a truck does it ship in an even bigger truck?!”)

"Shit," Felix huffs. He slumps against the wall again, defeated, and tosses his now empty juice carton down with as much ferocity as he can, although it more or less floats and settles on the carpet.

"Don't worry I'll stay and keep you company."

It doesn't really comfort Felix. Case in point: a skirt walks by and Hyunjin, probably on autopilot with his dick doing the steering, follows, ignoring Felix’s existence. Which somehow makes it all worse knowing he's alone. Again.

Felix doesn't bother to try and reel Hyunjin back. He contemplates leaving and sleeping on the floor outside of their room until Jisung returns, then wonders if Jisung might even come home or head back to Minho’s off-campus apartment. He'd rather make an impromptu bed in the hallway than both of them coming back to his dorm and having to bury his head deep in his sofa cushions like an ostrich to dull out any disturbing sounds.

Through the cheers, music, and laughter Felix hears a low whistle. He doesn't look up initially, continues to burn his retinas with the bright LED display his eyes are glued to, because he has no reason to look. He hears it again, sounding closer. Ignoring it, Felix tries to read the meme his debate partner Seungmin posted earlier. Again. Closer. This time Felix does look up, irritated and ready to tell whoever to go be a nuisance elsewhere when he sees him. A guy. Whistling — at him?

Felix casually notices how attractive he is because holy shit he's hot (hot, hot). He’s wearing an orange t-shirt with Greek lettering printed onto the fabric, taut around his defined solar plexus, and a snapback turned backwards over his dark mass of curls. Definitely good looking. Based on the evidence: the way he tips his drink back while smirking around the lip of a bottle, the look he’s casting towards Felix and the whistling. Typical fuckboy.

"What's your name?" His voice is low and husky and fuck it makes Felix weak at the knees and pissed at the same time, like this guy knows the effect he has over Felix and thinks that he'll have Felix wrapped around his finger, or around him, later. Even if it’s most likely true it still irritates him.

Felix rolls his eyes and turns the other way, opting to instead watch his ex Changbin being held upside down by his ankles while he does a kegger, the spout catching him on the forehead when a pledge — Wooyoung, drops him. That’s going to bruise. There's a low hum close to his ear, close enough to scare the shit out of him. Felix feels his soul physically leave his body and crossover from the mortal plain.

"What the fuck?"

The corner of frat boy's mouth draws up, an unfathomably deep dimple denting his cheek. It ~~arouses~~ disgusts Felix. He leans away and shoots him a deadly glare, if looks could kill then this wouldn’t be a problem. Jisung would be dead, unable to hold Felix’s favorite plushie hostage, threatening to cut the stitching.

"You never gave me an answer, beautiful."

"Do you use that on everyone you try to pick up?" Felix sneers, slipping his phone into his pocket in case he had to make a quick getaway that includes jumping over a fence or out a window. He’ll take either or.

"Just the ones who ally with houseplants. I’m Chris."

"And I don't give a fuck."

Felix is ready to say fuck it and walk but frat — Chris — rests his hand palm flat against the wall next to Felix’s face. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Chris brushes his fingertips along Felix’s bare arm, his skin betraying him and breaking out into goosebumps. Chris notices. His smirk, and the accompanying dimples, deepen.

"Did it hurt?"

What? "What?"

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

"No, but I scraped my knees crawling out of hell."

Chris’ eyes round out in surprise, as if this is the first time he's ever been rejected, it probably is. Felix takes the opportunity to escape, front door wide open for him to walk out of. He kicks a few stray bottles and cans out of his pathway, and whatever pressure that’s been building up in his head and between his temples since he could hear the music a block out from the party’s location, disappears. Maybe he can get someone to let him into the lounge and he can continue reading the Origins of Political Order on his phone. Untie the hoodie he has knotted around his waist and ball it up to use as a pillow or blanket while he stretches out on a loveseat. There’s free coffee too. Comparatively, to how his night had been going, Felix craves it.

His entire night is ruined and he has a test tomorrow but all of his things are locked away upstairs. He's never gotten a mark lower than a B, (sophomore year. An 87%. Fuck his high school english teacher) and this might be the first time he gets anything worse, maybe even fails. Now he regrets not indulging in the punch.

"Hey! Wait up!" Felix instinctively looks over his shoulder to see — Chris. No longer wearing a hat or carrying a bottle but he is still wearing that cocky smirk. It should not make Felix want Chris to fuck him dumb but. But.

Felix considers running. The only thing that keeps him from doing so is his pride and how that would look if he did. The notion doesn't stop him from speeding up his step until he's just shy of jogging however. He has to get away, far away, he makes piss poor decisions when he’s horny, something he’s had to learn by trial and error.

Chris still manages to catch him, grasping his elbow when he does so. Felix shakes his hand off, begrudgingly turning to face him, nose pinched in annoyance. If this is the only way Felix is going to get rid of him then he'll spare him five minutes.

"Have I seen you someplace before?"

Not this again. Felix sighs.

"Yeah I'm the receptionist at the STD clinic. Your results are in, you’re a walking disease."

Chris pouts and Felix tries not to think about biting into his bottom lip and soothing the teeth marks with his tongue. No, nope, absolutely not. He kills and buries that thought entirely.

"If I could rearrange the alphabet I'd put U and I together."

Every time Felix begins to wonder why he's turning down Chris’ advances he hears another stupid pickup line and remembers — oh yeah. Felix finds intelligence sexy. He’s majoring in political science, a degree that requires knowledge and speech skills, something he needs in the conversations he has.

"It's great N and O are already together then."

This time Chris laughs and pokes his chest and Felix tries not to be weirded out by that, skin bubbling hot through and across his skin from where Chris had made contact, like a ripple effect.

"You're witty, I like that,” Chris smiles. It’s soft. Felix is soft, “would you be opposed to taking a walk around campus?"

No is already sitting on his tongue when Felix goes over his options. He has no room to go back to and he's going to fail his exam tomorrow anyways so — fuck it. The worst thing that can happen is that he has to knee Chris in the balls and run, he can see the security office from their vantage point.

Besides, Chris looks hopeful, batting his curlicue eyelashes and Felix feels a twist in his gut. It’s uncomfortable but also welcoming, like being stabbed with a knife made of warm, fuzzy feelings. It’s something he hasn't felt since Changbin. Felix will have to unpack that later.

Coincidentally, Changbin had been a frat boy himself with more muscles than IQ points but he could bench press Felix over his head and that had been hot enough to reel Felix in like an unsuspecting yet eager trout.

"Just once around the courtyard. Pretty please?"

Felix has to internally square up and fight the smile rising to his lips.

“Once.”

Chris grins like he's won an award and starts a slow, lazy pace down the pathway. Felix ignores the fact that it’s probably intentional, to drag it out. It’s cute.

They talk. About school, about home, about themselves. Chris throws a few lines in between like 'you must be a broom because you swept me off my feet' or 'do you have a map? Because I got lost in your eyes' most of which get a 'fuck you' or 'fuck off’ in response.

Felix however is kind of reciprocating, flirting back, even though he's desperately trying not to. Getting past the looks and the bullshit lines, Chris is a nice guy and surprisingly — pretty smart. At least they can hold a proper conversation, whether it's about politics or something more random like pop culture. Chris, Felix learns, is studying to be a structural engineer, a fact that also surprises him. Chris on the other hand is not surprised when he learns Felix is majoring in Poli-Sci.

(“You’ve got like this air of intimidation. Like you’re telling me you’re smarter than I am and it’s honestly? Pretty hot?” Felix hopes the streetlamps don’t illuminate his blush.)

Felix has gotten so invested he doesn't realize they've already gone four times around the courtyard instead of the promised once. Not that he would care if he did. Whatever worries he had earlier are gone and now all he sees are dimples and curls and — warmth pools through his insides.

It's going well, better than the talks he has with random men on Grindr when he’s desperate to be dicked down, so well he doesn’t notice the rock along the footpath until he’s falling, falling, falling. Felix pinwheels his arms and catches onto Chris’ forearm.

That's a mistake.

He should have seen this coming. He’s taken enough science courses to know how gravity works, but the moment he grapples onto Chris they both fall over into a pile of limbs and body parts. Thankfully it’s midnight so no one other than security doing their nightly patrol is around.

"Shit, are you okay?" Chris looks down from where he’s lying, concerned even though Felix can see that the left knee of his skinny jeans is torn open and bleeding. Felix’s heart does a somersault.

"M’ fine thanks for asking."

Chris’ frown slowly draws up into a grin. Blinding, bright.

"You have a band aid?"

Felix’s eyebrows meet in the middle, confused. Who carries bandages on them?

“No, why?"

The nursing station is closed, there might be some loose ones in the bathroom drawer or medicine cabinet he and Jisung share but the room is still locked. Felix is about to suggest going to the convenience store when —

"I think I scraped my knee falling for you."

Felix groans, loud and drawn out but also light, airy. Happy.

“Bleed out Chris."

He doesn’t.

They go to Jeongin and Seungmin’s dorm since it’s close. Seungmin isn’t enthused, leaving the door open while he retreats back inside without a word or backward glance which translates to an invitation by Seungmin’s standards. “They’re Jeongin’s. It’s all we have. So don’t complain or I’ll kill you where you stand,” Seungmin yawns through his sentence. Tired, grumpy.

When he leaves Felix uses a cotton ball soaked with peroxide to clean Chris’ wound for him while he sat on the counter, watching him. Chris cringes in discomfort, reaches for Felix’s freehand before he realizes what he’s doing and drops it. Embarrassed. Felix creases the cardboard box he’s holding, hopelessly endeared.

Felix smoothes the adhesive across Chris’ now sanitized cut, unable to help the burst of giggles that bubble out of him when he pulls back to see it. Paw Patrol bandaids. Jeongin would.

Then Chris mumbles something Felix doesn’t hear, refusing eye contact, “I’m sorry what was that?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Chris repeats, louder this time.

He isn’t, not that he can think of. When he says this Chris grumbles, intelligible this time, “a kiss Felix. Kisses heal ask anyone in the medical field.” And Felix rolls his eyes so hard they might pop out of their sockets but he complies — and maybe melts. The soft press of his lips to Chris’ bandaged knee has them both red and giggly.

“I’m not a photographer but I can picture you and I together.”

“God — no Chris. Worst one. Not happening. I’m not going out with you.”

He does.


	2. A Quiet Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this what getting assimilated into an alien species is supposed to feel like? Strange thoughts invading him, taking over like a parasitic symbiosis between host and organism. Or, maybe he’s always been one and this is him being humanized, feeling so much. Too much. All at once. Because if it is it’s kinda fucking a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • I never planned to follow through with a sequel because I didn’t have a solid idea and I didn’t want to release anything half-assed, but the surprisingly warm/positive reception the first part received paired with Chan’s vlive where he said he’d try the photographer pickup line on Felix, which he also did at the end of the first part to this fic I knew I’d have to brainstorm and flesh out anything that felt worthy of expanding on. This second part is the result of it. There isn’t any overarching storyline it really only focuses on Felix, Chan, and a brief glimpse into their developing relationship
> 
> • I’m not familiar with Greek life myself so you don’t have to know anything about how American fraternity/sororities work to understand it here
> 
> • There isn’t a lot of humor injected into this but it’s probably the fluffiest thing I’ve written :) I also dialed it back on the pickup lines since it’s not the focus for this installment. There is a scene that gets a lil steamy but it doesn’t progress further than making out
> 
> • The chapter title is in reference to comparisons Felix makes between the 1956 sci-fi horror movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Ridley Scott’s 1979 sci-fi horror Alien, and his growing feelings for Chan

The truck bed beneath Felix’s ass is fucking cold, cold enough the aluminum alloy is numbing everything from the waist down and, if this shit doesn’t end soon, the hospital he’ll be admitted to will probably have to amputate. It’s nearing mid-February, _Super Bowl LIV_ airing nationwide this upcoming Sunday which — Felix couldn’t give less of a fuck about, but Chris had texted him the night before last, inviting him to a tailgate party being held in the parking lot outside of their off-campus football stadium, organized by his fraternity’s chapter.

He’d been lying belly-down on his bed, arms tucked underneath his pillow, cradling it to his chest, staring down at his phone screen, at the open iMessage thread between him and Chris. Unsure, indecisive. 

He’d weighed his options, pros and cons silently bouncing around inside his head, aware that his answer was time-sensitive, Chris probably waiting on a response. His phone had been lying screen down on his freshly washed bed sheets next to his laptop, mid-essay when it vibrated, and Felix picked it up, clicking on the notification before he read it while it lit up his lock screen, Face ID automatically unlocking it to his messages — rookie mistake. 

He could’ve left Chris on read, considered it for a while, almost did but — he couldn’t. Didn’t want to. Imagined Chris in his chapter house; in his bedroom or bathroom or some other third room, obsessively checking his phone like Felix, and the majority of the human population, are prone to do, frown deepening and dimples shallowing the longer time passed. Confused, disappointed. 

So — he’s here. 

And, even if people continue to come up and ask him things, things that might drive him to commit mass homicide like: 49ers or Chiefs? Draft pick predictions? What’s your fantasy football lineup? Answers: who? Isn’t that a military thing? Is this the sports edition of fuck, marry, kill? 

Even if — seeing Chris light up when he noticed him walking up, cutting across a grassy median to reach the circle of pickup trucks and college kids quicker, his eyes disappeared into the folds of his skin the wider his smile opened, arm at his side, wiggling his fingers in a little wave, left Felix devastated in the aftermath.

This is the first time they’ve seen each other since the house party, their busy schedules having relegated them to sporadic texts throughout the week. Sometimes they’re to check-in, a “how’re classes?” or “I hope your day is going well^^,” sometimes they’re to complain, “customers just walked into the cafe two minutes before close i’m :) going :) to :) fucking :) scream :)” or “I’m about to yeet this pledge into the sun,” sometimes they share selfies or memes or video links that redirect to Tiktok or YouTube, or Reddit, usually after midnight when they’re both up, taking small breaks between working through class assignments. 

It’s been five days, less than a dozen messages exchanged, but Felix, despite them communicating only sometimes, thinks about Chris _all_ the time. 

Often wonders if he’s doing well, and, if he is, hopes that he’s smiling wherever he is, probably radiating warmth and positivity and comfort to everyone within his vicinity. Also hopes that he’s staying hydrated and fed and well-rested and Felix, who would probe anyone else he cares for (he definitely _doesn’t_ care for Chris, not deeply anyways, he barely knows him) without hesitation, shies away from asking 99.9% of the time, because he doesn’t want to appear clingy. He isn’t. 

Has been using the microwave to cook 3-minute instant dinners and reheat leftovers since he was six, ran himself baths and put himself to bed every night at 8:30 for just as long; his parents having worked night shifts throughout his childhood to make ends meet, to put up the money for his tuition because college is ridiculously fucking expensive. 

If there’s anything he clings to it’s his independence, and the horde of plushies he’s amassed over the years and, though he only has a few, more stitching and cotton, less flesh and bone, his friends. He doesn’t get like this with people he’s just met. He and Chris weren’t aware of the other’s existence last week and now Chris is living in his mind rent free.

It’s foreign, whatever the fuck he’s been feeling towards Chris since he came into his life, emotions ravaging through him like a wildfire. Unexpected. Uncontrollable. Briefly wonders if this is like _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ , a sci-fi horror he caught while browsing through cable tv channels with Jisung to get into the Halloween spirit last October, watched it through the open v’s of his fingers, hands in front of his face to preemptively block out any jump scares because it always elicits a jump and — embarrassingly enough, sometimes a whimper out of him. 

Questions if an alien spore has planted itself in him, so deeply rooted now it’s almost assimilated him into something that looks and sounds like Felix Lee but isn’t him, not entirely. Except — instead of being an empty vacuum of emotions like the pod people in the movie he’s feeling so many things, too many things all at once, his heart so full and warm and round and ready to burst at the tightly knit seams he’s woven around it to protect himself from any pain that can’t be grieved and forgotten over a good cry and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s strawberry cheesecake ice cream.

Seungmin, who’s working towards an associates degree in philosophy, would call him an introspective black hole, tell him he’s brooding over things because he’s never permitted himself to reciprocate in fear of being hurt. Of offering himself to someone so wholeheartedly, so remarkably open and trusting and vulnerable, that it’s normal for him to detach from everything to avoid the heartache. 

He’s said it to Felix before, psychoanalyzed him over a bowl of frosted flakes while they sat in the student mess hall, cereal that had gone soggy in front of him because he’d been pretty defensive but who wouldn’t, he just wanted to eat fucking frosted flakes before his 8am class.

Neither won, not willing to admit defeat just like all of their previous arguments. They’re debate partners so they’re keen to the other’s bullshit. 

He quickly severs that line of thinking, doesn’t allow it to unravel any further, not while he’s in public at least and surrounded by his peers, introduced as Chris’s _plus one_ to his fraternity brothers when he’d first walked up to him, Chris’s arm having immediately encircled his shoulders, softly kneading Felix’s upper arm through his sleeve when he settled.

And Felix swore under his breath when he felt the blood pool just beneath the ridge of his cheeks, mentally berating himself for having only applied bb cream and flavored chapstick. If anyone noticed they ignored it. Chris did notice and didn’t ignore it, however. 

Let his hand fall from his right shoulder, fingers skimming over his back as it did, twisting into the fabric of his hoodie for two, three seconds, before descending again, brushing the first few vertebrae in his spine, so light and barely there Felix had to suppress the goosebumps that threaten to surface. Eventually resting on his hip, fingertips curling around the bone and squeezing that too, pulling him into his side. His pulse hiccuped in his throat, imagining how this must look from an outsider’s perspective — _knows_ how it looks. Like they’re a couple. The alien parasite that’s burrowed its way into Felix coils tightly at the notion.

Chris is talking to a group of alumni, standing in a lopsided circle among the ring of parked trucks a dozen feet away from Felix who couldn’t be bothered with socializing outside of one word responses and absolute necessity. 

His reserved disposition doesn’t bother Chris though, proven by the way he whispers into his ear that, while Felix doesn’t have to go out of his way to talk to anyone he does. Explains a fraternity is about connections made now and recommendations given after which Felix gets so he isn’t upset when Chris abandons him. Sets off to insert himself into ongoing conversations with a strong handshake and charismatic smile, welcomed in after the formalities are out of the way because Chris is warm and friendly and magnetic. 

It’s endearing, watching him or whatever.

Felix gives him a once over, aware that he’s woefully underdressed, wearing a red and black tracksuit jacket with matching joggers, the hood pulled up and over his bleach-fried hair; a complete 180° from Chris who’s in a classic pink polo, collar down, iron-pressed and wrinkle free, tucked into the hem of his grey chambray shorts. He looks good like this. Professional, approachable, fuckable. 

Chris laughs at whatever’s said, head tipping back on its axis in a way that’s exaggerated but natural — something that’s so very Chris; holding a champagne flute by the stem as he swirls his glass around to create a carbonated whirlpool. He looks refined. A stark contrast to the chicken wings and beer cans they’re serving out of pickup trucks. How very American. 

Chris shifts his weight onto his right leg as his left turns out and, from this angle, Felix can just barely see it — the Paw Patrol bandaid. Still there, slowly losing its adhesion through movement and time, the corner of the bandage beginning to peel.

A reminder.

Confirms this is the Chris he met previously, the Chris who’d been all pickup lines and flirtatious, dimpled smiles, dressed down in a backwards snapback and greek-lettered cotton tee. He’s finding it hard to reconcile this Chris and the Chris from five days ago are one in the same. 

“Are you gonna eat something or d’you plan on eye fucking Chris the whole time?” Changbin, who’s loosely holding a pair of greasy tongs clamped together like metal pinchers in his right fist, asks, coming around the back bumper to stand in front of him. 

The unlatched hatch Felix is sitting on belongs to Changbin’s uncle, had recognized the rust stains and back windshield decals when he’d first seen it. They’d borrowed it once to pick up a couch Jisung bought through facebook marketplace for their living room, forgot to tie it down to the flat bed to secure it in place, resulting in the loveseat almost flying off the truck, over the overpass they’d been traveling down, and onto the six-lane highway below. 

“Shut up,” Felix reddens, hopes that if Changbin sees he just chalks it up to the heat of the charcoal grill he’s manning, “I literally just looked at him.”

A grin stretches Changbin’s lips from ear to ear, points at Felix with the tongs, careful to avoid staining the crushed velvet of Felix’s jacket (because he knows Felix is willing to catch a charge if he does) and presses further, “so you’re not denying that you were definitely just eye fucking him?”

It’s phrased as a question Felix knows is rhetorical because Changbin, despite not being the brightest crayon in the box, is incredibly observant, annoyingly so. Because Changbin knows him.

“So, you and Chris then?”

It should be awkward given that they’re exes; split two months ago, three days before winter break began and two after mid-semester exams ended but — it’s not. It had been a clean break, a mutual decision to end things before it could get too serious. Their relationship having revolved around fucking and ordering in for post-coital pizza. But Changbin got too busy bouncing between music and studying and a job waiting tables so Felix went along with it, because what else was he supposed to? He didn’t allow himself to cry or beg or feel, not until he was in his dorm, swaddled in blankets while he cuddled up to his plushies. 

The ache didn’t last. Took a pint of aforementioned Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and an orange blossom and sherbert scented bath bomb that bathed him in glitter to get him back on the mend. 

Felix shrugs, a one-off drop of his shoulders to come off impassive. “I don’t know, maybe. It’s new, so. We’re seeing how it goes right now.” 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that it’s not a matter of if but when. Seriously, Chris has been walking around the house cheesing like an idiot,” Changbin pauses, smiles wide and forced to expose his bottom row of teeth, eyes borderline disappearing into his eyelids to mimic Chris, “for the past week. A week, Felix. It’s really starting to creep me and the other guys out.” 

Before Felix can respond, someone, the fraternity’s house manager, yells for Changbin to get his ass back to grilling and Changbin does, hustling around the truck to continue. Tries to turn the wings he’d left cooking over but they’re already burning, burning — burnt, chicken skin ripping off the bone and sticking to the stainless steel grate. Changbin goes red from the heat and the heckling courtesy of his frat brothers, sweat beading along his hairline and tracking down his face. He’ll probably be wheeled out on a stretcher due to stress and smoke inhalation by today’s end. 

To distract himself Felix pulls his phone out, switches between Google Docs to continue, his essay about the geopolitical complexities brought upon by global warming and the governmental response from first-world nations, and Pinterest, pinning recipes to his baking board, when he hears a whistle — familiar, close. 

“Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

“And you’ve got simp written all over you,” Felix deadpans, tucking his phone away. It’s something he didn’t do the first time he met Chris. Last time he’d been on it to ignore him but this time, this time he puts it down to focus on him. 

Swiveling his head to the right to look at Chris, so close their lips almost graze, close enough Felix can smell the generic mint toothpaste and barbecue and sparkling champagne. And fuck if Felix doesn’t want to lean in and in until the gap disappears entirely.

Is this what getting assimilated into an alien species is supposed to feel like? Strange thoughts invading him, taking over like a parasitic symbiosis between host and organism. Or, maybe he’s always been one and this is him being humanized, feeling so much. Too much. All at once. Because if it is it’s kinda fucking a lot. 

Instead of initiating anything like Felix is silently dying for him to do he pulls back, palm flat against the truck’s hatch door Felix is on, an inch from his thigh but it feels like miles when Felix wants, hopes, _begs_ , that Chris shoves him into a car, a bed, _anywhere_ , and blows his back out into next week. God he’s been so sexually repressed since the semester started. 

But, Felix has learned — is still learning, that Chris isn’t like that. He’s looking down, between Felix’s dirty chucks, toes barely scraping the asphalt and his own sterile white oxfords, pulling Felix’s hand out from his front unipocket to cradle it between his own. Blows air into his cupped palms to warm Felix’s fingers. They’re still frozen for the most part but it does warm Felix’s heart enough it thaws a little.

Chris looks up from under his lashes to stare directly at Felix, says, “this is probably so beyond boring for you. Sorry, babe. I was gonna drag a friend here, probably Minho, y’know him. But, if I can be real for a sec?” 

He pauses, waits for Felix to urge him to go on which takes longer than Felix will admit, hung up on the new nickname — _babe_ , echoes through his head and rings in his ears. Eventually, when he does, Chris continues, quieter this time, “you were kinda the only person I wanted to bring as my plus one.” 

Pod-Felix wants to release the congregation of butterflies caged inside his chest, let them stretch their cramped wings and roam free, something he’s never let happen. Real-Felix doesn’t allow it, swallows the urge down instead. Rolls his eyes, gags. Stubbornly keeping the key from turning in the lock to assume some semblance of control. 

“You’re so fucking cheesy, Chris.”

“I hope you’re not lactose intolerant then,” Chris winks, dimples cratering his cheeks. He lets Felix’s hand fall away, tips his head and knocks back the rest of his drink, Felix following the bob of his prominent adam’s apple he definitely _doesn’t_ want to sink his teeth into. 

Felix threads his finger through the loop of Chris’s tied drawstring, gives a light tug to loosen the knot a little. Impulsive, emboldened. Watches the swell in Chris’s throat convulse, nearly choking on fizzy wine and a shuddering intake of air, inflating his pride.

Chris looks down at him — through him, like he’s seeing him for the first time again. Rests his palm on Felix’s thigh, fingertips brushing over the inseams two, three times before he takes a step backward, arm held out to pull Felix off the truck onto his feet when he grabs on. 

He leans towards his ear, breath ghosting over his frostbitten face. “Wanna get out of here?”

They’re in Chris’s car now.

It’s warm. The heater is on, radiating through the open side vents, adjusted inwards to blow hot air directly towards them. The radio is on too, quietly playing some Kendrick Lamar song added to Chris’s YouTube playlist, phone connected to the aux while it lied on the dashboard between them.

They haven’t left the parking lot, waiting for the engine in Chris’s car to warm up enough they can leave without the risk of the pipes icing out. Felix doesn’t know shit about cars (hates when he’s waiting for an Uber or Lyft and the app tells him the make and model like he could distinguish anything besides big and small, a slug bug and a pt cruiser), so he just nodded, figuring Chris knew what he was talking about by the confident way he spoke, probably a gearhead like Changbin. 

Chris is telling him about the charities his fraternity raises money for, something they have to log in order to fulfill their philanthropy requirement. Goes on to tell him he’ll volunteer during the little downtime he has to serve food in a soup kitchen or visit an animal shelter or read to kids at a local library. Shy to explain but Felix had been the one to ask, “you’re way too smiley for someone who’s just meeting a prerequisite so what gives?”

He’d been so wrong about Chris when they met. Had expected him to be some attractive asshole trying to add Felix to the notches in his belt but — he’s not, hasn’t pressed him to do anything besides talk while they waited for the car to heat up so Chris can drive him home, having rejected Felix’s offer to walk back. 

“I guess I don’t really leave any room for myself,” Chris laughs, drumming his fingers along the leather steering wheel cover while they idled outside of the stadium. “Minho says it’s a problem, threatened to call the A&E network to stage an intervention and televise it to humiliate me if I don’t ‘fucking relax like a normal human being.’”

From what Jisung’s told him, having gossiped to Felix while they were in their shared room, Felix playing mobile games on his phone while Jisung was trying (key word: trying) to study at his desk, sounds like a very Minho thing to say. It’s been one date but they’re already texting daily, making weekend plans or inviting one another to have a meal in the cafeteria. It’s gross.

“You’re not what I expected Christopher.”

“Good?”

“Very good,” Felix affirms.

Then Chris beams at him, dimples pulling in and Felix does too. Leans in and in until they bridge the gap and their lips join, Felix swallowing Chris’s words mid-reply. Fuck it, Felix thinks. Even if he is being harvested by a parasite or spore or extraterrestrial from the inside out, burrowing it’s way through him to crack open his rib cage when the pressure becomes unbearable like a chest burster in Ridley Scott’s Alien, if it means allowing himself to have this, whatever this is or will be, then he’s okay with it. Maybe. He’s not really down for anything to punch a hole through his chest though. 

It’s Felix who licks into Chris’s mouth first, tongue hot and wet and insistent against his. Chris’s hand slides up and under his hair, fingers curling in to yank him closer by the roots, surprising a moan out of Felix. He shivers after, a full-body tremble that has Chris tightening his grip like a vise. 

It’s Felix who breaks the kiss, maintains eye contact while he climbs over the center console to straddle Chris, one hand on the gearshift and the other on Chris’s shoulder to anchor his weight. He reattaches their lips as soon as he settles, Chris parting his open before Felix has to ask, tongues resuming the slick in and out between their mouths, hands finding their way to hug Felix’s narrow waist, thumbs rubbing circles into his hips.

And it’s Felix who pushes when he feels Chris hard underneath him, pulling his polo out from the hem of the shorts it’s tucked into so he can run the flat of his palm over Chris’s stomach, the muscle firm under his touch. Wanders down, down, down, until he teases a fingertip along Chris’s waistband, dips his middle finger beneath the elastic to test the waters.

This time it’s Chris who pulls away, pupils blown so wide they’re eclipsing his irises, lips shiny with spit and chapstick. Curls his fingers around Felix’s jaw to lock him place when Felix tries to close the distance again. He can’t be held responsible when Chris looks so fucking good like this.

“I don’t want us to do it,” Chris breathes, a stuttering exhale that deflates his heaving chest, “not in my car, not the first time at least. I wanna take you out, treat you like you deserve. Don’t want this to be some quick fuck or something, that’s not what I want out of this.”

“What _do_ you want then, Chris?”

Chris’s eyes round out, caught off guard. Shies away from eye contact, reaching around Felix to pick at the peeling Paw Patrol bandaid clinging to his knee, red, patterned with Marshall the fire pup. 

He shrugs, a gesture eerily similar to what Felix did while talking with Changbin earlier to seem casual. Felix’s heart balloons like latex that’s just been pumped full of helium, so light and airy it could float up and into the atmosphere.

“I know what I want but don’t wanna pressure you into anything, want this to be natural y’know?”

Felix does know, and Chris doesn’t try to stop Felix from leaning in to kiss him, a soft press of his lips that Felix hopes conveys a fraction of his jumbled feelings. Chris holds his face, smooths his thumb down his cheek, over the cluster of freckles peering through his makeup. Tender, warm. 

“Something must be wrong with my eyes because I can’t take them off you.”

Snorting, Felix pushes against Chris’s shoulder because — lame, so fucking lame. They talk a little longer, kiss a little more. Felix crawls back into the passenger seat when Chris says the car should be fine, keying the ignition to start the engine, a low rumble that disappoints Felix because he knows that this, this date or whatever it is, is ending soon. Too soon. Chris’s hand on his thigh, drawing patterns into his skin while they’re stopped at a traffic light helps lessen the letdown. 

Chris pulls up outside of his dorm building ten minutes later, moving the gear shift into neutral to idle his car, parallel with the sidewalk. Felix goes shy, staring at the rubber floor mat beneath the well worn soles of his converse, tugging at the drawstring fed through his jacket to busy his twitchy hands.

Turning the radio down low Chris turns to look at him, squeezes the thigh he’s still holding, fingers softly biting into his skin through his pants, pairs his word with a chuckle, “I’d ask if you had fun today but I know you’d be lying if you said you did.”

“I did,” Felix insists. He didn’t. So fucking bored he wanted to blow his brains out and paint Changbin’s uncle’s truck with blood and connective tissue but he’d stuck it out for Chris, pushed past his comfort zone to pacify him.

The first time around he endured the party thanks to Jisung, had no choice but to if he didn’t want to camp outside their shared room and ice a backache the following day because the floor is rough, the lobby furniture almost as bad. But this time he did it for Chris because he wanted to, didn’t have to be wagered or coerced or have his stuffed animals held hostage, only wanted to see Chris smile like he is now. 

“It’s okay Lix, you don’t have to spare my feelings, besides,” Chris pauses, tone low and suggestive, “I like it when you step all over them.”

Felix ignores the way his heart hiccups at the nickname, at the implication. Feels his blood displace, separating in his veins like oil and water, rising up to his cheeks and pooling down into his stomach. He’s never been so relieved to wear joggers, loose enough they’ll hide his boner, though both the walk and elevator ride to the fourth floor are going to be so fucking awkward.

San, the building’s residential DA, is standing just behind the front doors, watching them through the glass panels, trademark clipboard tucked under his armpit. And Felix knows if he doesn’t hurry his ass inside San will cite him for illegal parking, an infraction Felix does not want on his student record. 

As Felix swings open the door to get out Chris grabs him around the arm, relaxes his grip so Felix doesn’t bruise, not that he’d mind if Chris did rough him up a little. Chris laughs, all soft and embarrassed, staring at Felix’s chin to avoid meeting his eyes. Never has he been so aroused yet endeared by someone else.

“Before you go I uh, have something for you.” 

“Have something for me?”

A fleeting look of panic passes over Chris’s face, let’s Felix’s arm go and draws in on himself like a protective shell. Felix is able to recognize it, the way his eyes dart around and his hands twist the untucked hem of his polo, nervous. 

“Is it too early for gifts? It’s probably too early for gifts, I’ve probably made this so weird now. I just — I’m gonna be so busy with community projects and fundraisers and class work and Valentine’s day is next Friday, but I won’t have time to take you out, let alone see you. Figured we could rain check and I’d give you your present early but I probably look like a creep now.”

“Chris,” Felix interrupts, waits until Chris peeks up at him from under his lashes to continue, “I wanna see it, what you got me.”

Two, three seconds of silence pass before Chris nods, slow to turn his upper body to the right, reaches behind into the backseat, hauling a sizable box into his lap. A cardboard house. Felix recognizes the packaging, has received one every year for his birthday since he was eight. 

“You got me a stuffed animal?”

Chris is quick to shrug, justifies “you sent me a selfie yesterday and I saw you had like a shit-ton of plushies on your bed, so. I thought you’d like it. Not that I was analyzing the pic or anything, just noticed it when I opened it.”

Felix leans over the center console, pulls Chris in by the collar to kiss him, tongue drawing across his lips to slip it into his mouth, tracing behind his teeth. Chris grabs onto him, bunching Felix’s jacket between his tightly wound hands.

When they part they smile, their noses brushing up against each other’s, so close they’re inhaling the other’s exhale. 

“So you’re not skeeved out then?” 

“I wouldn’t be kissing you if I was,” Felix teases, smoothes his hands down and over Chris’s collar to eliminate some of the wrinkles he’d created, “just surprised you went to Build-A-Bear.” 

“I uh work there actually.”

“You,” Felix says, “work at Build-A-Bear?”

“Only part-time.”

That — that actually makes so much sense,” Felix giggles, affection bubbling in his chest. Tries to imagine Chris in a red workshop apron, pumping deflated stuffies with cotton and typing up birth certificates, helping kids pick out outfits from a wall of clothing. “You’re just as soft and cuddly as a teddy bear.” 

Almost immediately Felix bites down on his tongue, considers biting it in half so he doesn’t say any other stupidly embarrassing shit. Instead of cringing like Felix expects him to, Chris heats up, ears burning red, “it’s not as lame as it sounds.”

Just outside of his peripherals Felix catches the building’s door swing open, San descending the stairs to approach Chris’s car. Felix kisses Chris two, three times before he draws back, promises to text him as soon as he’s settled into his room, taking the gift with him as he hustles past San before he can say anything. 

Jisung is at his desk, bare feet resting on two of the five legs branched out from his chair like a metal starfish, penning something in his journal, probably a song or letter to or about Minho. 

Felix sits cross legged on his bed, opening the box when ass meets comforter, first pulling out the certificate (Date of birth: February 7th, the night they met, Chris is so sentimental and cheesy Felix kinda fucking loves it) then the plush, a cream colored teddy bear wearing a bow tie patterned with hearts. 

He pushes his nose into the fur, smells Chris’s cologne and natural musk, squeezes it tight against him. The voice recording startles Felix, squeezes again so he can hear it, Chris.

“Hello. Cupid called. He wants to tell you I need my heart back.”

The alien bursts through his chest, rib cage cracked and open, finally allowing the emotions he’s kept bottled release in him, through him, assimilating him into something he no longer recognizes but something he’s willing to live with, adjust to a new normal. Felix fishes his phone out, taps on the most recent conversation thread to message Chris.

i don’t think i can give you your heart back but <  
i promise to treasure it <3 <

 **Christopher** 💘  
> I’ve just been informed that that’s entirely acceptable  
> Hey are you a treasure chest?  
> Because you got all the booty 

blocked, reported <

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • I might consider a threquel depending on the feedback I receive for this addition — if that’s something you’d be interested in let me know in the comments!


End file.
